A Bastard and His Bitch

Author's Note: This is a departure from my usual genre of romance stories. It is set in no particular time or part of the world, so do not get caught up in trying to draw historical parallels. If anything, the story is about love that grows and blossoms in the struggle to survive. Be warned that sex in this story is the spice for the main entrée of how two unwanted royal "misfits" fit together like long-lost pieces of a puzzle. Kick back and enjoy the telling.

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"Ho! Look what the North Wind has blown into my august Hall! None other than Duncan, fierce 'Dark Warrior Lord' of our northern frontier! Welcome, brother! What causes you to leave your desolate princedom?" boomed King Godfrey from his elevated throne at the end of the Keep's Hall.

The man addressed by the King and to whom all eyes turned, threw open the front of his heavy traveling cloak to reveal dark worn leather and chainmail. Clearing his sword arm first and then his sword on his other hip, he drew back his cloak's hood to reveal shaggy dark hair and a short beard. While youthful and handsome, his weathered face was marred by a white scar that slashed diagonally across his right cheek. Duncan's shadowy mystique was enhanced by his panther-like movements that spoke of agility and strength.

"You are only three years older than me, sire," quipped Duncan as he strode purposely towards his giant redheaded monarch who descended to meet him. "Have you forgotten that it was your royal degree that I return to attend your... marriage? What beguiling royal wench has ensnared my older brother...or is it the madness from wearing that heavy crown? Have you already exhausted the supply of virgins in this kingdom that you must seek one from another realm?"

The two men hugged each other fiercely before Godfrey pulled back and draped a burly arm over Duncan's shoulder. "It is a sad tale, my brother," he whispered. "But there are plenty of virgins...and love-starved married women...just waiting for a taste of my royal cock between their widespread legs. And I swear that I have not lost my senses...but to pique your curiosity, 'she' is comely but not beguiling...quite to the contrary.

"This entire mess is Father's doing...yes, Duncan, I know that you do not think of evil sod as your sire...because he claimed the 'Lord's Right' to first bed your virgin mother... the childhood sweetheart of the Captain of the Guard...whom Father married... just before sending him to die while repelling attackers on the castle. Your poor unhappy mother...God rest her unfortunate soul...died of a broken heart soon after birthing you.

"Yes, I know that because Father was married to Mother, the Hag of Hades, you were neglected and bullied despite my efforts to shield you...that is until you could wield a sword like a demon. And yes, Father sent you to the northern frontier as a prince once you reached maturity to stop my mother's incessant harping and fears that you might usurp the throne. But at least you were well rid of the King, Queen, and all their court sycophants and petty intrigues. Count your blessings, Duncan, for you are free to live your life as you will.

"Look at me!" bemoaned Godfrey as he hauled his brother to the side of his throne and out of hearing of those in attendance. After shoving a large mug of ale into Duncan's hand, he continued his rant, "Trapped by a drunken vow made by Father...may he rot in Hell with Mother...along with the King of the South. Over mugs of ale, they promised that in exchange for cooperation against the marauding attacks from the Western Kingdom...a prince of one country would marry a princess of the other country to create a blood bond between the two nations. Since Father only had sons and the other king had sons and but one daughter...well..."

"Ah, so you are the sacrificial lamb on the altar of holy matrimony....my heart bleeds for you, my liege. But come, tell me of your lovely bride-to-be. Who knows? Maybe she might be the one to finally lay siege and then capture that big heart of yours."

"Ha! Hell would have to freeze, and Father and Mother would have to ascend to Heaven as holy angels before that happens. When Belinda...that is her name...arrived at my doorsteps, it was not by the expected royal carriage and dressed in finery to impress. Rather, my wife-to-be came astride a warhorse...clad in leather...and wearing breeches and spurred knee-high calvary boots at that. And the scandal did not end there for on the right side of her saddle was a short bow with a half-empty quiver of arrows, and on the left was a sheathed saber favored by the Southern calvary...which had been well-used judging from the blood splattered on her horse and her.

"The 'Bitch-Witch'...that is what she is called behind her back by her own men-at-arms... on her way here, encountered bandits who sought to rob her small party. Instead of fleeing to the rear like any lady would, their princess charged forward...quickly killing a few with arrows shot from her galloping horse...and then drew her wicked saber, sending blood flying everywhere. Her men swear, however, that it was her blood-curdling war cry and curses that scattered the brigands faster than her arrows or blade.

"Alas, Duncan! What am I to do? Belinda will probably have a nasty dagger under her bridal pillow ready to sever my bollocks if I do not satisfy her...or...some wicked hex to shrivel my manly pride-and-joy should I seek to enjoy my Lord's Right with another virgin after we are married. Help me, brother!"

"Calm yourself, Godfrey," Duncan said soothingly, knowing his brother's high-strung nature. "You are making mountains out of molehills like you did when you were younger. I will think of a way out of your dilemma, but not until after a bath, a change into clean clothing, and more importantly, something to eat since I am truly famished..."

"How fortuitous!" exclaimed Godfrey. "I planned a banquet tonight to welcome home my dear brother...and my soon-to-be bride and her diplomatic entourage. You will then see this so-called vision of loveliness who haunts my dreams.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hours later, Duncan found himself lounging in a chair to the right of his brother at the end of a long dining table in the boisterous Hall. Despite his efforts not to, he stood out like a sore thumb. Perhaps it was his eschewing the silks and other finery of the nobility for his usual leather warrior attire; or maybe it was his dark complexion among the fair-haired gentry who sat around the table; or maybe it was that his brooding aura that repelled the airy and frivolous attempts to engage him in meaningless banter.

Suddenly the room quieted after a voice rang out, "Her Royal Highness, Princess Belinda of the South." Those who were seated rose and gazed towards the Hall entry. Even though he could not see her, Duncan followed her presence as a murmur rippled through the Hall when the King's intended passed by. Unexpectedly two warriors of the South appeared - one pulling back the chair across the table from him while the other warily scanned for possible threats before locking on Duncan. As Duncan was about to return the glare, she -- Belinda -- broke into his field of vision.

Expecting a fierce, muscular giantess as painted by Godfrey's vivid imagination, Duncan was stunned to find a young, petite woman before him. Instead of emulating the style among high-born ladies, her honey-brown hair was pulled clear from her face and bound by a simple metal clasp to fall to her mid-back. Duncan found Belinda's pretty face exotic with almost elven and ivory-hued features. Yet contrary to the graceful smile affixed to her delicate lips, her hazel-colored eyes warily gazed around her before riveting on Duncan.

"Who, sir, are you?" was the inquiry uttered by Belinda and directed at Duncan.

The Southern senior advisor who sat next to Belinda sputtered at the bluntness of the obviously unladylike question and its enquirer. Godfrey started to stammer a hasty apology for the faux pas in court etiquette regarding introductions, but Duncan raised a hand to stop his brother from further utterance and embarrassment.

"I am Duncan, a simple warlord of the North."

This caused the senior advisor to hurriedly whisper into the princess' ear which brought a sharp rebuking stare from her in return. Then returning her assessing eyes to Duncan, Belinda with an inscrutable smile, commented, "Ah, I have just been informed that you are the former King's bastard who was exiled to the North at a young age to fight and live...or to die

The aghast senior advisor struggled to disappear into thin air, and a shaken Godfrey did his best fish-out-of-water imitation while gasping for something to say. Duncan smiled at the princess' gambit before nonchalantly admitting and pointing to his obvious scar, "I am he, princess...and as you can see, I have survived...although with a few close calls."

Then figuring that two can play at this game, Duncan softly said in a quick but subtle riposte, "And what of you, milady? How did you come to be 'selected' to travel northward to be married off?"

A genuine smile of amusement brightened Belinda's pretty face as she seemingly enjoyed this unexpected duel of wits. "I am commonly referred to in my kingdom as the King's 'bitch-daughter.' Her advisor's impending objection was stopped with the princess' hand to his face, "Stop, Gerrod! Do not say a word! This is the time for honesty, not diplomatic misrepresentation."

Then looking across the table, Belinda factually stated, "I am like you, Prince Duncan... a royal misfit. My mother was a princess of the East who was sent to the Kingdom of the South as a diplomatic and trade ambassador. In an uncharacteristic slip in judgment, Mother fell in love with my father, the King, who was already married and had sired my stepbrothers.

"To make matters worse, I was conceived; however, my father's religion did not allow a ruler's marriage to a foreigner or for him to have more than one wife. Mother was content to be his consort as in the way of the East; but to others, she was the King's mistress at best...or a whore at worse. I was commonly referred to as his 'bitch.'

"My mother and I endured this quasi-royal existence. While I was given a rudimentary Southern education as to royal expectations, I was primarily taught the language, ways, and fighting style of the East where women stood on equal footing with men, especially in the art of war. This continued until I was twelve when a royal herald from the East arrived to announce that Mother's father had passed away and as his eldest child, she was being recalled to assume the mantle of leadership...much to the relief of my father's wife, the Queen.

"However, Mother could not assume the Eastern monarchy with a mixed-breed mongrel of a daughter in tow, and abandoned me to make my own way. While I was a princess, neither my father nor his Queen made any special effort to treat me as such...the latter had her lackeys subtly and constantly torment me. However, mysterious 'misfortunes' happened to such individuals, and while it could never be proven that I was behind such incidents, everyone knew that I was. This resulted in me being called a vengeful 'witch' by those who sought to harm me, and I never sought to dispel such an image.

"To prevent my ill-tempered nature from further disrupting his household and wife, my father 'indulged'...as he put it...even though 'forced me' was more like it...me to expand my Eastern martial training and fostered me to the kingdom's military. I would come to earn the begrudging respect of those men-at-arms through my actions in combat and not due to my royal lineage."

Belinda then shifted and said, "My apologies, King Godfrey. After hearing my tale, I fear you will agree that you are not getting a 'fair deal' in this ill-conceived marriage arrangement of our fathers. I am known to be ill-tempered, crass, and more comfortable with a saber in my hand than a man's prick. I do not know about you, but I for one chafe at being bartered as a broodmare over many cups of ales consumed by two old men."

The faint glimmer of hope that sparked in Godfrey's blue eyes was quickly crushed by the weight of his heavy crown and the royal vow made. Reluctantly, he sighed, "It matters not how I feel, my Lady; rather, it is a matter of an oath made between two monarchs that must be kept. As the only Southern princess, you must marry a prince of the North to blood-bind our two kingdoms."

The long moment following Godfrey's pronouncement was broken when Duncan cleared his throat to capture the undivided attention of those around him. "Brother, if you and especially Princess Belinda might indulge me, there is a way to fulfill the royal vow and possibly satisfy those involved.

"Princess Belinda, please hear me out. If King Godfrey will consent to release you from the arrangement to marry him, would you instead be willing to marry me, the other prince of the realm?"

When Belinda's eyes widened as she leaned back in her seat, Duncan continued, "I know my proposal to you may seem that you have nothing to gain...but you do. In my isolated principality, we are far and few, and as such must band together to survive. Lord, soldier, craftsman, and peasant take part in the planting and harvesting of crops; the herding and hunting for meat; and other necessities of life. My people know that we can only rely on ourselves to defend each other and our piece of Earth from those who would take away what we have earned."

Then sweeping his open hand at those nobles who had gathered around them, Duncan continued, "I have no court like this...nor need of lords and ladies who are accustomed to a pampered life. I need people who are willing to take on life's harshness, fight, and win. We are simple folk, comfortable in functional clothing such as what I wear...and from the looks of you, my princess, you seem very ill-at-ease in the finery that you are wearing tonight."

When Duncan received a subtle smirk and a slight nod of agreement from Belinda, he further proposed, "My Lady, if you consent to wed me, you will be my equal partner with whom individual and mutual burdens will be shared. I realize that we do not know each other, and that for us to consummate our union would be a foolish start to what I hope will be a long journey of life together. I will not force you to my bed; instead, I will wait until you willingly join me.

"Princess Belinda, you can opt for the courtly but meaningless life with my good brother. Or you accept my promise of hardship, equality, respect, and most of all, the freedom to be you. It is your choice to make."

The ensuing eerie silence was deafening as Belinda mulled over something she had never had in her life -- a choice. Then lifting her face to look upon Duncan with those captivating eyes of hers, she calmly stated, "My Lord Duncan, I hope I never make you regret your proposal, but I accept."

Then with a perfunctory glance at a speechless Godfrey, Belinda chuckled softly, "That is if King Godfrey will agree to this alternative way of fulfilling the royal vow made by our fathers and bless the union of our respective kingdoms' misfits...the North's Bastard of the Lord's Right and the South's Bitch of a Foreign Consort."

~ ~ ~ ~

On the northward journey, Duncan and Belinda shared the road; how their seemingly ill-fated births and upbringing uniquely shaped them; and their hopes for the future. With each league traveled, they found themselves to be more similar than different, and the bond between them strengthened to the point where their acceptance of each other as husband and wife was a given.

Belinda was amazed at Duncan's layback demeanor and camaraderie with his men-at-arms with whom he had shared many battles and at times rather scandalous misadventures. His men warmly spoke of how their prince had gone from a brash and sullen sword-wielding youth to a skillful war leader who asked nothing of them that he would not do himself. They shared stories of how Duncan had grieved at the loss of his soldiers, made sure their families never wanted, and willingly got dirty helping with mundane but necessary tasks. The people of his principality were loyal to him not because Duncan was their prince, but because he had earned their respect and the right to lead them.

Belinda, in her own way, earned the respect of Duncan's men. At first, she did so with her archery skill, often veering off the path to pursue any spotted game and providing fresh meat to roast at the evening's campfire. She subtly asked about each man's life -- his military role and service, his family, and lastly, his dreams. Without complaint, she took her turn cooking and other camp duties before tending to her horse, taking care of her weapons and gear, and sleeping on the hard ground next to the fire as they did.

However, what cemented their respect was when Belinda disagreed with Duncan. Convincingly and emotionally, she argued her point of view as would a longtime wife. However, it was Belinda gracefully letting their lord save face even though everyone knew he had lost the argument that won them over. By the time the traveling party crossed the border into the frontier of the North, Belinda was no longer referred to as 'princess' but rather affectionately called 'milady.'

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Word of Belinda and her marriage to their prince spread like wildfire through the principality. Rumor had it that she was a fierce Southern warrior-princess who had been persuaded by Prince Duncan to lend her skill with horse, saber, and bow in the defense of the North. Others maintained that Belinda was an exotic Southern seductress who had shamelessly beguiled their lonely prince with her foreign magic. But the most believed tale was that their prince had stolen the heart of the Southern princess right out from the nose of his older brother, the King, who had been Belinda's arranged intended.

As such, folk from across the principality gathered along the road, in small hamlets, or in the capitol to catch a glimpse of their new lady. Most agreed that Belinda was a foreign beauty who exuded regalness, confidence, and strength. Seeing her small figure dressed in traveling leather and mounted on her steed with her weapons prominently displayed, no one doubted the tales of her martial prowess. Yet what amazed most was Belinda's aura of personal warmth as seen in her smile, wave of the hand, or nod of acknowledgment to those who cheered and welcomed her.

It did not hurt that Duncan rode alongside her, clearly overjoyed with his new wife as he pointed out points of interest or called to those he knew on a personal basis. To those watching him introduce her to his world and them, it was clear that their prince was smitten with his new lady as she was with him.

"My humble apologies, Lady Belinda," stammered an uncharacteristically awkward Duncan, riding closer to Belinda in the heart of the city as they headed towards his hilltop castle. "When I heeded the summons of my brother, I did not anticipate returning with a wife. Realizing that my squat fortress has no room to accommodate you, I sent a scout ahead of our arrival to have my belongings moved into the adjacent study, and to ensure that my quarters were aired out, tidied with the bed linen changed, and that bathtub filled with hot water be prepared for you..."

"A hot bath...and a bed! Oh, Duncan, I could kiss you," chirped Belinda in undisguised delight. Then with a mischievous sparkle in her captivating hazel eyes, she leaned over to casually murmur, "And do you know what? I will!" Then grabbing her husband's collar to pull his face to hers, Belinda pressed her lips hotly against a stunned Duncan's. An audible gasp of shock was uttered by the crowd that surrounded them, immediately followed by bawdy cheers of joy and vulgar encouragement as their lord was absolutely flustered and their lady beamed with saucy glee and conspiratory agreement.